Misty Morning

The fog clung to the snow as though it was unwilling to be parted from the icy embrace.

“That’s weird.” Mike said.


“Snow and mist at the same time.”


“At dawn.”


“In a graveyard.”

I shivered and shrugged. “You’re so weird.” I said. Gracie had liked this time of day. I looked down at the white covered mound at my feet and leant my head on Mike’s shoulder. We had lost so many friends. I stepped forward and knelt in the soft ice to place a bunch of poppies on the grave.

“She would be really grateful.” Mike said, patting my shoulder, fondly. “So happy that you remembered her.”

“Yeah.” I said. Frozen tears joined the snow and the mist. An early lark pierced the fog with it’s dawn song. My chest began to hurt.

“Come on.” Mike whispered. “I think it’s time to go home.”

He pulled me up and almost carried me out of the graveyard. I looked back but I could see the headstone for the mist. It was almost like a ghost was guarding the body.

I walked away.

View this story's 2 comments.